Simple
by Moonpumpkin
Summary: "But you're a Potter. I'm a Black. We can't." Walburga Black's relationship with Charlus Potter was anything but simple. Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition round three entry


Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe and all of its characters

She was happily married to Orion. Really, she was. He was dependable, powerful, handsome, rich… He gave her two strong sons to carry on the family name. He treated her well and gifted her with pretty things. But Walburga couldn't help but remember in her long days alone in the house of those wistful Spring evenings behind the greenhouses or at the far end of the lake or the edge of the Hogsmeade village. She would achingly remember those long days with Charlus. It was forbidden, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin together, especially a Potter and a Black. But he lived for adventure and misadventure, and she couldn't help but melt when his caramel eyes lit up or when he flashed her a crooked smile. Yes, she was happy with Orion, but she had loved Charlus.

It all began in the Owlery. Walburga had detested the place, but so did her cousin Lucretia, and if it kept her away Walburga was willing to sacrifice her comfort for some peace. Lucretia, jealous of Walburga's beauty and popularity among the boys in Hogwarts, had been spreading rumors about her; the latest, that Walburga's improvements on her marks had resulted from more indecent methods than studying, had her in tears.

She hadn't been expecting anyone to come up to her hiding place. It was dinnertime on a weekday—Walburga thought she could spend hours undisturbed. The door groaned open, startling her. From her place on the windowsill she watched in dread as it opened wider, fearing who would walk through. A spikey head of hair poked through, one that Walburga instantly recognized. The Potters were famous for their untamable hair, after all.

Charlus jumped slightly when he spotted her on the sill. His face easily relaxed into a grin. "Sorry," he chuckled. "Wasn't expecting anyone to be up here."

Walburga simply stared at him. She couldn't understand why he was talking to her. She was a Slytherin, he a Gryffindor. She was a Black, he a Potter. She was a Pureblood elitist, he a filthy bloodtraitor. There was no reason for the two to speak to one another.

Charlus raised his eyebrows, somewhat ruffled by her lack of response. Lowering his gaze to his hands, he shuffled his way to one of the school owls, tied an envelope to its leg, and sent it off through a window.

When he reached the door, Charlus cleared his throat. "Well, it's been nice talking to you."

"Pleasure," Walburga drawled sarcastically, expecting that to be the end of that.

Except that it wasn't. Charlus hesitated, one hand on the door. "Are you…Are you alright?"

"Yes," she snapped, annoyed by the softness in his voice and the effect it had on her stomach. She wanted to wallow in her misery—her mother always said that she was a professional in the field of self-pity—and she couldn't do such with anyone, especially a Gryffindor, watching. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Slowly, Charlus lifted a finger and brushed a knuckle underneath his eye. "You've got some mascara, right there."

Walburga flushed a dark red. Embarrassed and angry for blushing, she reddened even further. She quickly scrubbed at her cheek, staring determinedly out the window.

"You know," Charlus began, "I heard what Lucretia said about you." Walburga instantly felt a familiar lump rise in her throat, making it difficult to breathe evenly. Merlin, what was wrong with her? Why couldn't she hold it together in front of this Gryffindor? "Anyway," he continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil, "I just thought I'd let you know that I don't believe it. I don't think anyone does, actually." Walburga hiccupped slightly, and she closed her eyes. "And those who do are idiots, anyway. I mean, who in their right mind would sleep with Kettleburn? Or Binns, for that matter?"

Against her better judgment, a giggle bubbled forth and burst from her lips due to the sheer absurdity of it all. She clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise, but it didn't help. Charlus' brows furrowed, but his lips quirked ever so slightly. "I'll see you around, Black," he said in parting. Walburga just waved him off, unable to croak out a response.

She did indeed see more of him in the following weeks. In the halls, he would nod at her in greeting. If the halls were empty, she would smile and nod back. During the school day, however, she would stare straight ahead, pretending not to notice him. She saw the hurt flash across his face, and she felt a twinge of guilt; she had not intentionally meant to hurt his feelings, she just could not be seen associating with him. It was that simple.

She often found her eyes wandering toward the Gryffindor table of their own accord during meals, unconsciously seeking him out. She couldn't help but stare when he laughed aloud or listened to one of his friends intently, even when he was spreading butter on his toast. Everything he did, no matter how uninspiring, was absolutely fascinating. Once he caught her eye and winked; the next morning she sat on the other side of the Slytherin table, facing away from him.

One night she found herself in the library, researching the properties of each individual ingredient of the Draught of the Living Death and how they worked together. Her eyes were blurry from reading, and she sat back, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. When she removed them, Charlus was sitting across from her. She squeaked in surprise, prompting a grin from him. His stupid smile sent anger coursing through her. "Potter!" she hissed. "You might've given me a heart attack! Didn't your mother teach you manners?"

His grin widened. "Sure," he replied, drawing out the word. "Doesn't mean I listened, of course." He winked, and Walburga pursed her lips despite the quick flutter in her stomach.

"Look, are you here for any particular reason? Or do you just going to be a pest?"

Charlus scrunched up his face as though he were thinking hard. "Yes. To both." Walburga blinked expectantly and he elaborated, "Well, you're fun to annoy. You go all red and your eyes get really bright. It's actually quite pretty." Walburga could feel a blush creeping up her neck and she cursed herself. "And that brings us the other reason I'm here." Charlus leaned in close and Walburga found herself doing the same, though she could not recall making the conscious decision to do so. "You're quite beautiful, you know that?"

It was Walburga's turn to grin. "I know," she said smugly. Charlus chuckled.

"Would you do me the favor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade?"

Walburga's smile faded. "We can't. We can't be seen together. Besides, we hardly know anything about one another."

"Well, that's why I wanted to take you to Hogsmeade. But we can do something else, I suppose," Charlus amended, undeterred. "Whatever you like."

Walburga bit her lip. "But you're a Potter. I'm a Black. We can't."

Charlus grinned conspiringly. "The fact that it's forbidden will make it all the better." Walburga held his gaze for a long moment. He was staring at her intently with bright, lively eyes. So unlike anything she'd seen before. Suddenly he closed the distance between them, meeting her lips with his own for a brief, electrifying second. He pulled away, grinning as always. "Meet me at the entrance at eight o'clock tomorrow night," he whispered, and was gone.

She did, though she couldn't think of any good reasons why. When her feet found themselves at his side and he took her hand, however, the warmth of his hand clasped around hers was all the reason she needed. He led her out to the Black Lake, and they shed their shoes and rolled up their trousers so that they could dip their feet in the water. The date mostly consisted of him talking and her humming in response, but oddly enough, it was the most content she'd felt in a while. And of course, if he ever began talking too much for her liking, she quickly silenced him with a kiss. She agreed to meet him again under the secrecy of the moonlight.

Of course it couldn't last. Fleeting kisses and secret smiles, bright eyes and warm embraces, they weren't of any concern when it came to her marriage, arranged by her parents for the good of the family. Walburga's mother informed her that she'd found the perfect young man for her to wed. Walburga kindly ignored how close their names were on the family tree. She'd met Orion before, in school and at parties her parents forced her to attend; he was smart and very good looking, albeit cold and uncaring. He was nothing like Charlus. Perhaps he was what she needed.

Charlus did not take the news well. "So that's it, is it?" he demanded, huffing as he paced. She sat on a fallen tree in the Forbidden Forest, watching him storm in circles.

Walburga sighed tiredly. This was just like Charlus, getting himself worked up over something he had no control over. "We both knew this wouldn't last, Potter." He winced at her use of his surname. They had moved past that a long time ago. "This was bound to happen. I don't know why you're getting so upset about it."

Truth be told, Walburga was in a similar state of anguish. She'd read books where the protagonist was separated from her love, but in the stories they'd always found a way back to one another. She couldn't see that happening for her. She kept her face cool, like she had been taught from a young age, so as not to betray any of this to Charlus.

"You know damn well why I'm upset," he growled. "I love you, and you're going to marry another man!" He stopped his pacing directly in front of her and took hold of her hands in her lap. "Please. Please, Walburga," he whispered, those damn eyes round and pleading at her. She closed her eyes. She couldn't look at him; it only made it harder. "Don't do this. Let me take you away. I could take good care of you." Her eyes flashed open. "Why should we let the world tell us what to—"

"No." Walburga was startled by how hard her own voice sounded. She dropped his hands. "I'm sorry Charlus, truly I am. But you cannot convince me to run away from my family. Family is everything. And my place in the family is to marry Orion Black, bear him sons, and to continue the family name."

"With your second cousin?" Charlus sneered. Walburga's breath caught in her throat. He had never been that cruel to her before.

Walburga's hurt quickly turned to rage. "Shut up," she growled. "Just you shut up right now. This is all your fault anyway!"

"My fault?" Charlus repeated, outraged.

"Of course it's your fault!" Walburga practically screeched. "If you hadn't talked to me in the Owlery, this never would have happened! If you hadn't kissed me in the library or swept me off my feet—"

"So I forced you to meet me all those times? I forced you to hold my hand and kiss me and to love me and to—" Charlus stopped short, fists clenched and nostrils flaring. It was rare to see him lose his temper, and Walburga hated to be the cause of it, but he just wouldn't understand. He had understood everything else, why not this?

"Please," Walburga whispered, acutely aware of the tears threatening to spill over. She would not let them; a Black does not let her emotions show. And that's what she would stay from now on, a Black. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be. We can't be together. We can't."

Charlus gazed off to the side, unable to look at her. He took a calming breath before saying, "You know, you keep telling me that. 'We can't.' But why? You say it's because of your family and their expectations of you, but really, I think you're scared. You're afraid to try for something you really want because it will be difficult and because your family won't approve." Walburga opened her mouth to challenge him, but he continued, "Don't. Just don't. I know nothing I say will change your mind." He turned his head to bore his eyes into hers one last time. "Goodbye, Black."

That was the last time they spoke. They saw each other in the halls, but now both stared straight ahead with cold indifference. She married Orion Black, he Dorea Black. She did not attend her aunt's wedding.

Eleven years later, she received yet another letter from Professor Dumbledore about her eldest son's tomfooleries. It detailed the prank and asked her to come to Hogwarts to speak with her son and the headmaster. Heaving a sigh—it was all she seemed to do when it came to Sirius—Walburga flooed herself to the headmaster's office. Upon exiting the fireplace, she came face to face with Charlus Potter.

He looked much the same as he had in Hogwarts but more mature. He wore glasses now and had crow's feet at the corner of his eyes. But those eyes hadn't changed. Walburga's breath left her as she stared back, startled. Behind him stood a boy of eleven, the spitting image of the man she loved. Dumbledore clapped his hands together, startling them out of their reverie. "Shall we begin?"

If Walburga was being honest, she didn't listen to anything said in the meeting. She was in a daze throughout, and it was not until Sirius stepped in front of her sheepishly that she realized it was over. "Mother?" he asked hesitantly.

Her eyes snapped to his. They were silver, like Orion's. "I don't want you to be friends with that boy," she told him, surprised at how level her voice was.

"But—"

"End of discussion."

But of course the brat remained so. Walburga received letters upon letters of the duo's misconduct in the halls of Hogwarts, and much as she tried, Sirius would not break ties with the Potter boy. When he ran away, Walburga suspected that was where he went. It pained her that Charlus could see the result of her arranged marriage. Three days after the whelp left, she received a letter. She recognized the handwriting immediately.

_He's well and safe. _

_ -C.P._

She threw it directly in the fire.

In the end, she supposed it was for the best. She was safe, Charlus was safe. She was happy, and she could only assume he was as well. Life was much simpler this way, and for that she was grateful. Some days she wished her life were a novel, where she and Charlus could be together against all odds. But she knew that life, real life, was nothing like that. Her family and society as a whole had expectations of her, expectations she was willing to meet. And sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night with Orion snoring gently next to her, she allowed herself to admit that Charlus had been right. She was afraid. She was no Gryffindor. She was a Slytherin. A Black.


End file.
